Glass scattered across his MIDI keyboard. Kaelen stared, heart hammering. He pulled off his headphones. The room was silent again, save for the faint tinkle of glass settling. But his ears were ringing—a perfect, sustained F# note.

The lamp on his desk shattered.

In the front row, a girl's water bottle exploded. The glass panes of the VIP booth above shimmered like heat waves, then collapsed into silver sand.

Then he thought of the crowd. Ten thousand people, arms raised, waiting for a jolt that would make them feel alive. His old tracks would just make them nod. The Fracture would make them remember .